Trapped in the Clutches of Madness
by LadyDragon1316
Summary: Martin Septim has had a vision. His Champion is trapped in the clutches of madness. And he is the only one who can bring her back. (one-shot) MartinXOC


**This is set in the Elder Scrolls universe where I favored Martin as the romantic interest. I hope you like it.**

"_Valatta_!"

The door to the royal chamber burst open and Baurus saw the young Emperor sprawled upon the floor, struggling to gain his feet, the bedcovers wrapped around his legs and impeding his attempts. The young Blade rushed to his side, "Your Majesty!"

Martin Septim threw out his hand, at once utilizing the Blade as a support and pushing him out of the way, "I have to go—She's in danger—I have to…get to her—" He could barely keep himself upright, let alone make it to the door. Although he seemed set upon reaching it whilst still locked in the throes of something more than a simple nightmare.

The struggle brought the beating of footsteps and the Blade, Belisarius, and Grandmaster Jauffre rushed into the room in answer to Martin's fervent outburst. Baurus was struggling to return Martin to the bed but the Septim was doing all he could to resist. "I have to…help her—!"

Grandmaster Jauffre took command of the situation and all three Blades brought the Emperor to the foot of the bed where they forced him to sit and remain seated, easily combatting his wild struggles. Jauffre reassured the youngest of the Blades, as Baurus' expression was mildly panicked over the Emperor's behavior. "This is not unusual. A Septim may receive visions in their dreams. The waking afterward can be difficult." Then he turned to Martin and attempted to get the young man's attention. "Your Majesty."

Martin seemed not to hear him and surged off the bedspread in another attempt to make his way to the chamber's exit. But the Blades caught him and forced him back down, holding him still. Jauffre knelt and put himself directly in the young man's sight line. "Your Majesty. Listen to me. Focus on my voice. You must doff the vision. Calm down and focus. Focus on what is around you. Listen to my words. Feel the floor, the cold, your own body. Focus, your Majesty." Jauffre continued speaking, guiding Martin through his recovery in a way that indicated he had first-hand experience in the practice.

Gradually Martin stopped struggling to stand, his eyes focused, and his breathing became deeper and even. Only then did Jauffre ask, "Your Majesty, what did you see?"

Martin's eyes shut tight and he shook his head slowly, struggling with his thoughts, "Valatta…where is she?"

"Not here," Jauffre replied. "You remember. You sent her to seek a Daedric artifact. For the ritual."

The motion of Martin's head became more deliberate, "No…I saw her." The recollection reigniting the flair of emotion without the muddled effects of the vision itself and his eyelids tightened, "I saw her! She's been captured."

"Captured? By who?"

Martin's eyes snapped open, "Daedra." A month ago he might have spoken that word with fear. But that emotion was eclipsed entirely by a strength of purpose that had been absent since he had first learned of his bloodline and subsequent responsibility. "She's been captured. And she can't escape. I have to go and bring her back."

"No," Jauffre said immediately. "You must not leave Cloud Ruler Temple while the Mythic Dawn still schemes. We will send a Blade to retrieve her." He turned to Belisarius and ordered, "Get Cyrus in here at once."

Martin seized the Grandmaster's forearm even as the Blade raced out of the room, "No. She needs _me_. I _have _to go for her. I'm the only one who can bring her back."

Jauffre did not fight the Emperor's hold, but remained unmoved. "Your Majesty, you are the most important individual in all of Tamriel at this moment. If you die, there will be no way to stop Mehrunes Dagon. You must remain secure. If you are lost, then we are all lost."

"No," Martin shook his head vigorously. "You're wrong. Valatta. We need Valatta."

"Martin—"

"NO!" the Septim bellowed. "We _need_ her. We need Valatta! Without her…" He quieted suddenly and when he spoke next it was in a haunting tone of one who knew something to be absolutely true, "Without her…we are doomed."

Jauffre had heard that tone before from a Septim. And he knew better than to disregard their visions. "We will send a contingent then. All those we can spare from the Temple. But your safety is still our highest priority—"

"No." Martin had calmed significantly by now. And into a state of resolution that had long been absent, ever since the first Oblivion gate had opened upon Kvatch and brought the city to its knees in the space of one night. Since he'd lost his faith in the Divines for permitting such a horrible tragedy to befall the world.

Then _she _had come. Valatta. She had come with the rising sun, almost single handedly storming the gates in order to reach the chapel where Martin and the survivors were huddled. Full of fire and determination and a refusal to yield to even the most abysmal of circumstances, she had given him reason to hope. A reason to believe and something to believe in. She had saved him that day, in more ways than one. And been his strength since. Now it was his chance to return the favor.

The Emperor stood from the bed and looked at Jauffre dead on, reflecting the fortitude of Emperors past. "I must be the one to go after her."

Again, Jauffre set about dissuading him. "Martin, I can't allow you to—"

"I am your Emperor!" Martin declared, standing strong for the first time in years. "Anyone you send will fail. But I can save her. I know it. I can bring her back. I will. I _must_."

Grandmaster Jauffre stood before the only surviving Septim and saw in him the fortitude of his father and the wisdom of his line. He saw the Emperor he would be: strong, loyal, and determined to do what he thought was right no matter the risk or resistance. Determined enough to bend even the Grandmaster of the Blades to his decision.

Jauffre sighed in defeat, knowing full well that Martin would leave the Temple no matter what the Grandmaster tried to do, "Very well, your Majesty. But I must insist that you be accompanied by a full company of Blades. If she is held by a Daedra, then we must take every precaution to ensure your safety. The woman may be important, but you are vital."

Martin nodded in acceptance. So long as he could go where he knew he was needed, nothing else mattered.

"Do you know where she is being held? Did the vision tell you anything about her location? A landmark, or a symbol?"

"No," Martin replied. "But I do know how to reach her."

XXX

It took three boats in order to accommodate the entire company and their heavy armor. Martin was not trained in the use of such equipment but he wore a set anyway, blending in with his protectors as best he could. To all external viewers they looked, without exception, like a contingent of Blades on a mission. A contingent currently boarded into their boats and rowing their way across the Niben Bay.

Every Blade was educated in the geography of Tamriel as a part of their training. And when they saw an island floating on the water at the center of the bay where there had previously been no such landmark, it took all of them by surprise. All of them except one. Martin sat forward, staring at the approaching landmass with expectation. He leapt from the boat the instant it struck ground. Several Blades were equally quick to follow, while others dragged the boats onto shore.

The entire island was covered in alien vegetation, ranging from brightly colored flowers and fruits to crawling vines and overgrown fungi. Martin ignored all of it and padded straight up the path as fast as his armor would let him, with Blades in tow. At the island's height stood a door set into an enormous, and frankly disturbing, stone statue: a head with a single set of eyes that still managed to display three completely different expressions. The gaping maw of the center face held a glowing portal that was no doubt an entrance to more than just a chamber within the enormous head that appeared ready to devour anyone who dared to enter.

There was a single disheveled guard within view who was wearing the colors of Bravil. At the sound of so many people approaching he had risen to his feet and moved to, halfheartedly, intercept the company. "Halt! I strongly advice leaving here right now. This isn't any place for decent folk."

Martin had stopped to take in the statue and portal, so one of his escorts took the opportunity to get ahead of him and take charge of the situation. "We're here on official business for the Empire. Stand down."

It took a moment for the loan guard to finally recognize the uniform. "Blades? What do the Blades have to do out here?"

The conversation continued with the company's representative saying whatever was necessary to give the Bravil guard the impression that their being here was related to something important and covert. But Martin was not listening. His eyes and attention held on the entrance.

Baurus approached the young Emperor's shoulder and asked the obvious question, "Is she inside?"

Martin nodded. The glow of the portal lit his face, the light dancing across his features. Beckoning. No one could be convinced it was natural.

Amidst the conversation occurring a dozen or so steps away, the Bravil guard was talking about how folk had gone inside but, if anyone came out, their minds had been twisted. A prime example was the twitchy Khajiit who was crouched off in some of the far foliage, muttering to herself and pawing incessantly at the soil.

It was another moment before Baurus asked another question whose answer was less obvious. "Where does it go?" Everyone in the company—on the island, even—had to be wondering that right now.

Martin stared into the portal, unflinching, and answered, "…Oblivion." Then, before any of his escorts could make a move to stop him, he rushed the steps and into the light.

XXX

This was not the Oblivion of the Oblivion gates that were appearing in Tamriel. The creatures here were of an entirely different make. It did not feel like the Oblivion gates did. Nor did it act in any manner that made sense. The insects and fungi were enormous. Giant amphibious lizards with sharp teeth inhabited the waters with poison in their bite, as one unlucky Blade learned early in their journey. Toads the size of men walked on two legs and inhabited ruins of cities. There were skeletal creatures with voracious appetites that the company took great pains to avoid entirely, walking root creatures, wandering canines without skin or fur. And any people they met were as the Bravil guard had warned them: twisted.

During their expedition, the company learned the name of the Lord of this strange realm they had entered: the Mad God, Sheogorath. It was a relief to learn that they did not tread in the home territory of Mehrunes Dagon. But to walk the realm of the Daedric Prince of Madness was not without risk.

The company stayed as strong as they were able as they traversed one strange region after another, winding through mazes of stone and roots, utilizing all their training in a constant battle to keep their precious charge alive. And it was that charge who led them. Martin carried on with purpose, following a path only he could see.

He seemed the only one immune to the strange affect this realm was having on his Blades. Despite all their training and conditioning for service to the Septims, the Blades all suffered from any of a number of affects ranging from simple changes in temperament to hallucinations. The journey was trying for all of them. But they knew to turn back was no less dangerous than pressing forward. And Martin Septim would do nothing but continue on, so they did as well.

At last they came to their destination; for how could it be anything else? A city set upon a steeply climbing hill. From a distance the city seemed to be split into two with a bright blazing torch of many colors shining on their seam. And sitting atop the whole of it, like a crown jewel, was a glittering palace overlooking the entire realm. It blazed and shone in the sun like a crystal. And Martin made their way straight to it.

There were Daedra in this realm. The company of Blades had encountered them before. Beautiful women of gold or azure skin who had yet to hinder or threaten the company. These same Daedra stood guard at the palace and seemed to stay Martin in his steps, if briefly.

"We need to get inside," he said quietly, almost to himself.

One of the more stable Blades accompanying him replied, "We will do what we can, your Majesty. But…do we know where she is being held?" He sounded almost hopeful that the Septim could provide additional information before they assaulted the stronghold of a Daedric Prince.

Martin Septim continued to stare up at the palace, spearing the crystal walls as if demanding they relinquish the one they held. "…Roots… She's in the roots…"

XXX

Under cover of darkness, or as a dark as it got in a realm where starts lit the night almost as brightly as the sun did the day, the company again approached the palace. Martin allowed his protectors to lead the infiltration. It was necessary to slay two Daedra on guard in order to gain access to the palace superior.

The throne room was expansive in all dimensions. Displays ringed the entire diameter, exhibiting strange artifacts that held some unfathomable significance to the lord of the realm. At the hall's far end, dominating the entire wall of the end, was a tall standing tree wide enough that five men could not have spanned the trunk. The strange vegetation that grew across the realm sprouted from the bark, two separate varieties for each side of the tree. Immediately before the tree was a fountain whose water chimed pleasantly down into a crystal basin. And before that was the throne of the Mad God himself…empty.

Once the room was deemed clear, Martin directed the company toward the tree and the throne. Many of the Blades were wary during the approach, half expecting Sheogorath to appear and set his armies upon them. But nothing stirred in the room save for the water in the crystal font.

By Martin's guidance, the Blades circled around behind the tree where there appeared to be a doorway set down between the roots. Two Blades were left to guard the entrance while the rest descended down into the earth. Down and down they went, traversing tunnels that were as gnarled and twisted as the roots they were twined around and lit by strange glowing tubers that sprouted from the walls. Walking root creatures wandered the passages and there was a scattering of the female Daedra on patrol. Martin knew the way and the company managed to traverse the maze while avoiding detection. Just as they were wondering just how deep these tunnels reached, they came out into a large central chamber that seemed the very heart off the realm.

Roots of all sizes jutted from the walls, and dug into a central pool at the room's center. The pool itself was only half full. The remainder of the liquid was flowing…straight upward. A waterfall moving in reverse, straight up from the middle of the pool to strike the ceiling in the same rush it might have by falling to the ground. And suspended in that flow was a woman lean of build, completely unclothed, with a billowing curtain of dark hair caught in the upward flow of the water that held her.

A collective expression of shock ran through the soldiers as they laid eyes upon this spectacle. The woman did not stir at their appearance, nor even seem aware of anything. Her eyes were closed and she made no movement of her own.

"Is she…dead?"

Martin did not answer. He leapt immediately into the pool and waded through the water toward her, the current around his calves pulling him toward the inversely flowing funnel of water. He halted at the base, staring up at the one he'd come to save. She didn't seem to know he was there. Martin reached into the flow and seized her ankle. The flow was no stronger than that of a river and he was able to pull her down from where she was suspended above him. One hand at a time, he drew her down nearer his reach.

When she was close enough, Martin put both hands around her waist and attempted to pull her out of the water entirely. The waterfall bent with her body, clinging to her and attempting to keep a hold of its prize. But Martin persisted, pulling harder. The two forces remained locked in that battle, both pulling stubbornly on the woman, neither giving any quarter. But the man proved the more determined. Gradually, the water thinned nearest him and Martin was able to pull her free entirely, taking her weight where it fell into his arms.

The instant she was free, the flow of the waterfall ceased and all the water that was climbing toward the ceiling gave up its ascent and cascaded down like a torrent. Martin turned to shield the woman from the rush and trudged through the water that was now well above his knees in order to get her onto dry land. Hands that had previously held off for fear of the strange Daedric magic unfolding before them now reached forward to assist the Septim to exit the pool and support his burden.

She was laid upon the soft moss that ringed the pool. Someone offered their cloak and her nakedness was covered. Martin heaved himself out of the pool and fell to kneeling beside her. "Valatta. Valatta?" He touched her neck in search of her pulse, then leaned before her mouth to check her for breath. Martin sighed in relief and sat back heavily, "She's alive."

He was not the only one relieved. After all they had endured to get to this point, and the fact that the Emperor himself had insisted on placing himself in harm's way to achieve the end, it was a relief that they hadn't come all this way in vain.

But their journey was not yet done. "Your Majesty, we need to get moving."

Martin nodded, although he was unable to tear his eyes away from Valatta. "Of course." While the Blades formed up quickly, he could not yet bring himself to budge. Martin reached out to caress her cheek and whispered to her, "I'm going to get you out."

He refused to allow anyone else to carry her. Martin took it upon himself to wrap Valatta up in the cloak and lift her off the ground. With the heavy armor he wore, the movement seemed to jar her a bit roughly. Her head rolled on her neck and Valatta made a sound. Martin froze in place and stared down just in time to see her eyes open a sliver, rich brown, warm and deep enough to drown in.

"…Martin?" His name came out as a whisper, but the familiar lilt of her voice sent his heart soaring.

"Yes. Yes, it's me."

She blinked but seemed to have trouble focusing, "What…are you doing here?"

Before he could answer her, one of the Blades hissed adamantly, "Daedra! We have to move."

Martin turned his attention forward and the company rushed down a hall that was yet clear. But, to reassure her, he did say, "Don't worry. We're going to get you out."

The lot of them ran down the tunnel as fast as they could manage. It wasn't fast enough. The tunnel system that had previously been mildly patrolled now sounded with activity. The echo of armored feet on the tunnel floors surrounded the company from all sides and unmeasurable distances. They kept a tight formation and moved as quickly and quietly as possible, still hoping for a discreet exit. Martin did his best to keep Valatta's head from bouncing too much as they ran.

She struggled weakly against her covering, "Martin…stop…I have to…go back…"

"Shhh. It's alright, Valatta. I'm right here."

The woman shook her head. Or tried to. "No…have to…take me back."

"No. I won't leave you here. I promise—"

"Look out!"

From the intersection ahead two root creatures appeared, no longer passive but bristling and brandishing their pointed fingers like knives. The Blades reacted at once and the forerunners fell upon them, hacking the creatures apart. During the combat, three Daedra closed in from behind. Martin and two Blades rushed ahead while those in back held the line. Emperor and guards skirted the battle with the roots creatures as they were finished and the Company was left with one front to fight upon.

"Keep going," came the yell as the Blades closed on the new front. Martin and his guards did as told with two more of the warriors falling in. They stopped on a septim as a dozen more Daedra appeared further down the tunnel and began coming toward them.

"Go back!" They immediately retraced their steps and fled down the way that the root creatures had come from.

Their escape became a full on flight. The company fled up the tunnels, through any Daedra they could possibly best and away from any they couldn't. Options dwindled as Sheogorath's minions closed in and hope with them. Desperation was fuel and on they ran, holding together as best as they were able.

And in the midst of it all, Valatta begged, "Martin…take me back…now…"

"I won't leave you!"

The company forced their way to the exit, burst out of the tunnels and rushed around the tree only to be brought up short by a substantial force of Daedra waiting for them, the Blades they had left on guard already beaten and held at the edges of Daedric swords. Their exit back was immediately cut off as the Daedra they had been fleeing flooded out of the tree behind them and the company was surrounded.

Martin held onto Valatta tight as they were encircled by his Blades. She persisted in her argument, trying to add force to her pleas, "Martin…"

"No!" he said fiercely. Even in the face of these insurmountable odds, he would not abandon her. Even facing the death of himself and his Blades, he would not yield. She had done more than that for him. For all of them. He would not let one of the Daedric Princes have her. Even at the cost of his life.

The Septim shifted her weight to one side and managed to draw a blade. The Blades prepared for the coming assault while the Daedra moved in slowly, preparing to take the company apart to reclaim what had been lost.

Then, before the battle was engaged, a voice louder than thunder shattered the air like a hammer blow: "_**HOLD!**_" Every being froze in place at the word. Every sword, every breath was brought to a halt. Martin struggled just to shift his eyes to the voice's source…the woman in his arms.

She looked a bit pale and focused intently on breathing. But she gathered the strength to hold herself up of her own volition. She breathed deeply and, before his very eyes, her hair wavered and the color changed from the dark waves he'd always known to a shade of dazzling white he'd never seen before.

"Martin. Put me down."

The young Septim obeyed the compulsion, his eyes wide in shock, and adjusted so that she could gain her feet. More deep breathing. Then she raised her hand and said loudly, "Stand down. All of you." As one, every Daedra in the room sheathed their weapons, many going so far as to salute or bow. Even the Blades were staring from the prison that had been made of their own bodies.

More breathing. Martin stared at her, bewildered. Valatta breathed, keeping her eyes low as she addressed her rescuer, "Martin…you shouldn't have come."

The Septim felt his body return to his control, the force that restrained him slowly fading away.

"You need to leave. All of you. Right now," she said.

The instant Martin could move his arm, he reached out to her. "Valatta—"

"Leave!" she snapped and whirled away from him. In the process, he caught sight of her eyes and froze on the spot, this time from shock. Her brown eyes had turned bright, septim gold.

Valatta looked away hurriedly, hiding her face from him. "You all need to go back to Mundus. Now." She weaved between the Blades who were only now shaking the effect of her previous command.

Martin pursued her. "Valatta, wait. Wait!" He lurched forward and grabbed a hold of her arm. Immediately a dozen Daedra drew weapons on him. The Blades leapt to his defense and the previous collision resumed in an instant.

"_**HOLD**_!" All motion ceased for a second time by her command. Valatta took advantage and rushed into the Daedric forces, putting distance and bodies between herself and the young Emperor before he regained use of his limbs.

"Valatta." The Daedra put themselves in Martin's way when he managed to move, although they stayed their weapons this time. The intent seemed to be separation. Nothing more. "Valatta!" he yelled, shoving ineffectually at the female Daedra in his way.

From far within the forces of Sheogorath's troops, the woman could be heard, "Take them to the portal and get them out."

The previously still Daedra swarmed the mortal intruders as one, and they were bundled together and out of the throne room too fast and completely to be resisted. But Martin fought them every step of the way. "Valatta! VALATTA!"

XXX

Martin sat unmoving on the ground staring into the portal. He'd tried over and over again to reenter. But every time he'd been turned out again, running or lunging from the very portal he'd rushed into. After a few dozen attempts he'd collapsed to the ground before the glowing doorway and hadn't moved since. Not one of the Blades could convince him to move or eat or drink. All he did was stare at the portal. Not even Baurus could break through to the man. But the young Blade didn't leave his side. Together they kept vigil.

He couldn't leave. Even without the dreams, he couldn't leave her to the mercy of a Daedra. Martin didn't know what kind of nuances had made her expel them and stay where she was. But he could not bring himself to give up on her. It was more than that she was important to defeating Mehrunes Dagon. She was important to him. He...he needed her.

Another night crept over the sky. The Blades lit a fire for the night and Baurus took a temporary respite to eat. In the silence and the seclusion, Martin's consciousness dimmed. Days of fasting and exhaustion took the toll they were due and he swayed where he sat. The man was pushed to his limit. The proof was that, in the unwavering light before him, Martin thought he saw Valatta's face with those golden eyes. Then he heard her speak in his mind.

"_Why are you still here?_"

He didn't bother trying to focus his eyes, lest he loose the image. "I can't leave you."

She growled at him in exasperation, "_You can't do anything for me._" Even in his mind, Valatta was radiated the same disapproving attitude she got when she found him wallowing in grief or hopelessness.

"I can't leave you there," Martin insisted, weakly, knowing full well he was talking only to himself. "I can't give up on you."

"_But you can't _do_ anything for me,_" she repeated with force. "_You have people who need you. What about your men? What about your people? The Empire?_"

"I don't care. I can't leave without you. I can't."

"_If this is about the artifact—"_

"I don't CARE!" His yell turned heads over by the fire, but his attention was entirely upon the portal. His vision of the portal blurred and his voice faltered, "I don't care about the artifact or the Empire. I don't care about _any _of it. Just you. I just need—"

His voice broke midsentence. Staring at a visage of the woman he loved, all restraint failed him. "I'm not strong. I've never been strong. Not in my whole life. You're—" The blur in his vision lessened as the tears flooded over his cheeks and Martin wept unabashed. "You're the only thing in my life that's given me strength. The only thing that kept me going. The only reason I left Kvatch. The only reason I went to the Priory or the Temple. The _only _reason I stay." Martin's shoulders slumped and he shook uncontrollably. "You don't know how important you are. I should have told you. I should have told you when I had the chance."

Valatta's face stayed in his sight, thank the Nine. Even if it was to a hallucination, he needed to say these things. "You're so important to me. You're the only thing that keeps me going when all I want to do is give up. When I feel the doom coming…when I can't carry the burden I've been given…you give me the strength to carry on. You don't know what you mean to me. How you keep me going."

Martin stared into the light and admitted whole heartedly, "I need you." It shook him to the core and the loss threatened to shatter him from the inside out. "And I don't know if I can keep going if you're not there."

Her face started to vanish and the terror in his chest forced him to his feet. Martin's knees buckled and his knees hit the ground hard. But she stopped vanishing, so the pain didn't matter.

"_You don't want me anymore, Martin. Trust me—"_

"You're wrong!" he shouted, ignoring anything but the image that he prayed was as real as he'd imagined it to be. "I do need you. I need your stories and your jokes. Your attitude when I don't do things by your book. I need the talks we have, even when they're about nothing at all. I need you. I _need _you!" The young Emperor knelt in the dirt and mud, quivering and unapologetic. "I feel like I'm losing myself in all this. I'm not an Emperor. I'm not a priest. I'm not a mage anymore. I keep forgetting who I am…except when I'm with you. When I'm with you, I'm Martin. And…I don't want to forget that."

Her head seemed turned from him, but he still heard her when she spoke. _"…Martin…"_

Valatta who always had a comeback or a no-nonsense instruction was speechless. But Martin wasn't.

"I love you." That brought her face full into view. So he said it again. "I love you." By the Nine, it came out so easy. Because it had been ringing in his soul for a long while now, like a melody without words. But there were words now. "I love you. I love you. I love you!" Martin found his feet out of desperation. "I love you. And I need you. Please. Please don't leave me now. I need you. I love you!"

The current in the flood of words carried him forward into the light that had spat him back out again and again before. He lurched into the blinding doorway and reached for her. Martin wept anew when his hand found something solid that felt like her wrist. "Please, don't leave me. I can't do this on my own. I need you. I need you with me. Always. Please."

He didn't care that he was begging. He didn't care that he wasn't asking this for the sake of the Empire or stopping the Oblivion Crisis. Martin knew full well that he was weak and selfish and that this was all about what he needed. But he didn't care. He needed Valatta over anything else and he couldn't bear the thought of losing her now.

They stared at each other, Martin and this vision that he was more and more certain was Valatta herself. She hesitated…and then tried to take a step toward him. But something stopped her. The woman frowned, then frowned harder and her eyebrows knit together in fierce concentration. Nothing changed at first…then the light dimmed and drew away slowly, like a tide going out. The color of Valatta's hair wavered like before, changing from the dazzling white to the dark shade he'd always known. She continued to focus on whatever she was doing until the light of the doorway had pulled back and released her completely. Then she opened her eyes and they too had returned to the chocolate shade they'd been her entire life.

She breathed hard as though following some act of great effort. "That should hold for a while." Valatta looked at him sternly, although he didn't care how irked she was with him at this point. "Alright, Martin. I'm here. I'm with you. Happy?"

Before she could start stomping around and lecturing him about carrying on the fight, Martin pulled her to him and kissed her. He kissed her like he should have done a thousand times before now. Like he'd wanted to almost every day since the first time hearing her voice had made his chest feel light. He kissed her like a man kissed the one person he loved, and he kissed her as long as he could manage and with every ounce of his adoration that he could muster.

And when they came out of it, the first thing he said was, "I love you."

Valatta grumbled, "Yeah, yeah, you said that already." But there was a sparkle in her eyes. So he kissed her again. And she kissed him back. That was more than he'd asked for, but he took it enthusiastically. "Now are you gonna stop acting so childish?" Valatta demanded when they next came up for air.

"Only if you're going to be there with me."

The woman shook her head in exasperation, but couldn't keep from smiling. "You've made that abundantly clear. Idiot." She looked up at him, beaming through her attempted sternness. "Yeah. I'll be with you. As long as you need me."

"I'll always need you," Martin told her and pulled her to him for the next of a long line of kisses and embraces that he owed her from all this time he'd held off.

She was with him and everything was right with the world. Martin's dreams had told him it would take both of them to succeed in this fight. That if Dagon was to be defeated, it would take them fighting together. But he didn't need the dreams to tell him that. He knew. Maybe Martin was the key to the final victory, but Valatta was the key to him. The one who held him up in the fight and wouldn't let him be overcome, either by the enemy or by himself. He needed her and now here she was. With him.

Ignoring the on-looking Blades, the Bravil guard and the mad Khajiit, Martin kissed the woman he loved and vowed to fight for her. With her. And win.

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